


Matching Set

by crossroadrain



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Heartmarks, John is a single dad, M/M, Parent!lock, Prostitution, Protective John, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:23:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2579738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadrain/pseuds/crossroadrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a strange thing – the mark. Everyone was born with one and sometimes there were matching sets – two symbols that fitted like puzzle pieces. True love, they said, was pictured by identical symbols. But the greatest, most romanticized and annoyingly advertised was the idealized idea of the matching set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heart-like spots

**Author's Note:**

> Hello.  
> I've been having some writing problems with my original works so I decided to try some fanfiction to keep my mind busy.  
> It's very random idea. It will probably take no more that 5 chapters but I don't know. If you want to read something specific, you can request.  
> Happy reading!

The sun was setting over the busy London streets. Everyone got somewhere to be, cars strolling around, taking the streets, the noise impossibly loud and consistent. The city was buzzing, the working hours coming to an awaited end and busy people running around, trying to beat the tempo of the traffic, running to catch busses and trains, and the parallel universe that was the London Underground. Through all the chaos, a huddled figure was sitting on the pavement, the last bright rays of the sun flicking to the pale bruised face and shiny dark curls glistening lightly over the man’s forehead.

John parked the car in the small parking and ran to the store. It was almost six – he only got two more hours to the first date he had in three years. She was a good looking and very well aware of his situation nurse, called Lila, who asked him to dinner yesterday and suggested he cooked something for her. There was something animalistic about her but John liked her, he would have liked every woman that talked to him right now.

Since his little princess came to his care, John didn’t really pay much attention to the world outside her and her needs and her wishes. Diana didn’t want him, she didn’t really want the child too, but kept her in her care and only left her with John on the weekends and every now and then when Diana had other plans and social events – something John didn’t have to deal with any more.

He barely managed the budget – especially having to take major care of his little daughter. He was working two jobs and staying behind with rent for months but his land lady, Mrs H, was too soft of a heart to kick him out, reminding him gently that he could pay less if he was able to fix this and that around the house and thank God, he was good with his hands.

Walking to the store, he thought he was really quite pitiful right at the moment. Hardly managing taking care of his daughter, working shifts at the clinic and covering the night shift at Speedy’s, he didn’t exactly had any time for a relationship, nor did he have the finance for one, but he liked taking chances and a date sounded so darn good right now. Shrugging to himself, he crossed the road and was a step away from the shop when he noticed the huddled figure next to the trash bins.

It was a man – a lean, dark haired man with pale skin and bloodied face and hands. John stopped a few meter away from him, noting to himself that the man’s chest was moving so he definitely knew that he was alive and breathing. He looked around, there was not even one person looking their way, not even one of the by-walkers who stopped to check if this man, this obviously injured man, was okay, if he even was still alive.

Filled with anger, John stepped closer and squatted carefully. “Hey,” he said gently. He touched the man with his fingertips – he didn’t want to startle him but he had to check if he was awake. The man moved his hands, rubbing his face and blinking his eyes open. He shook his head and looked up at John. It took some time but then he licked his lips and rasped a deep, velvety sounding sentence that stunned John so much, he almost fell on his butt.

“£20 and you can take me home.”

John blinked at him, “Sorry… sorry, what?” he stammered, too confused and honestly shocked not only by what was said to him, but by that otherworldly voice and the stare of those celestial eyes – not blue, not green, not gray – staring at him with pleading and need.

“Whatever you want, soldier. For £20.”

“Soldier?” John took hold of his chin and made the man stand up forcefully. He was having troubles standing upright and John manhandled him to the nearest wall. Helping him steady himself, John stood in military ready before him, his hands crossed on his chest, and looked the stranger dead in the eye. “How do you know I am a soldier.”

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Answer me.”

The man fell on his knees and looked up at John under his long dark eyelashes and a handful of curls, sinfully fallen over his forehead. His hands reached for John’s belt and when he got hold of him, John jumped back, hurriedly saying “No, no, no, that’s not going to happen.”

The man looked at his face, calculating and murmuring to himself and pulled back, staying on his knees.

“How do you know I am a soldier, tell me?”

“Your haircut says old military habit, as well as your posture, the way you set your chin, your commanding tone, demanding information and quick. Your limp says PTSD, but your were likely injured elsewhere. Shoulder, maybe?”

“Yes,” John heard himself answer before he knew what he was doing. He didn’t tell anyone about that, not anymore and now here was this complete stranger, offering to take him home, all bloodied and obviously beaten up pretty badly. John smiled, feeling giggly and happy and alive for the first time in forever. “How did you figure that out?”

“You are obviously a doctor too. You kind of have a surgeon’s hands but not really, you aren’t a surgeon, you were – in Afghanistan or Iraq – but you can’t practice any more. You are fisting your left hand as I speak so, obviously, it was your left shoulder.”

“Afghanistan.” John said, breathless and utterly amazed beyond any words. The man blinked and nodded. “That was… well. That was frankly brilliant.”

The man blinked some more but stayed silent. He was still on his knees.

“Utterly amazing,” John stammered and the man looked up at him. “Wow. Brilliant, really, just brilliant…”

“You know you say these out loud, right?” He tried to smile but winced from the pain from the gash on his mouth.

“Yes… yes, I do.” John kneeled too.

“So…” The man looked expectantly at him. “Most people don’t usually say things like you. They don’t really like to hear all that…”

John blinked, confused. “What do most people say?”

“’Put your mouth to a better use’.”

John cleared his throat, feeling determent and knowing what he was going to do was going to be very, very stupid. “Come here.” He stood up and reached his hands to the man. The stranger looked curiously at him but took his hands and stood up before him. “I have an offer. It is very stupid, very irresponsible offer.”

“What about my offer about the £20? I need the £20.”

“No. Listen.”

“But you are attracted to me – at least the ‘me’ you imagine cleaned and less bloody and undressed and washed and filthy on your bedroom floor. I am sure of it. Your signs show it to me.”

“No. Yes. It’s not about that. I… come home with me. Not like that, not for sex.”

“But you want to have sex with me.”

“But you don’t want to have sex with me.”

“I don’t want to have sex with anybody.”

“No.”

“I need the £20.”

“Come home with me – not for sex, for help. I’ll patch you up and feed you.”

“But will you give me the £20?”

John let out a breath. His plan wasn’t to let this man go back to this, whatever this was. He didn’t know when exactly he decided it, but he knew he couldn’t do it. His phone rang and he looked at it. It was Lila. He declined and looked pleadingly at the stranger before him. His celestial eyes sparkled in the dim light and John took hold of his hands, holding them lightly at his own.

“Come one. Be my adventure. I kind of desperately need you right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you are a soul to save and I am a soldier without a cause. We are pretty well cut for each other, I’d say.”

The man frowned a little and then nodded. “I have some savings if you need a flatmate.”

John blinked at him, “You’d have to sleep on the couch. And I have a three-year-old daughter coming around from time to time.”

“You are inviting home a male prostitute and you have a daughter?”

“I also have a gun and ability to kill you in various ways on various places, making it look like a suicide, tragic incident or not leaving anything behind, depending on how I please. But! You are not the kind of person to hurt a child, are you?”

The man blinked and then looked down his wrist. His red mark was shining bright and red against his pale skin. John had pushed his sleeve up his wrist, feeling the warmth of the mark burning through their clothes.

“No,” he said and the sign shone just a little bit brighter.

It was a strange thing – the mark. Everyone was born with one and sometimes there were matching sets – two symbols that fitted like puzzle pieces. True love, they said, was pictured by identical symbols. But the greatest, most romanticized and annoyingly advertised was the idealized idea of the matching set.

“I thought so,” John smiled and let go of his hands. Sherlock shook them and covered the mark again. John showed him his own – a matching set of curvy heart-like spots, coloring their hands. “Wow.” Now he knew why the crazy idea to take this man home didn’t seem strange enough in the first place.

“It’s not so uncommon to find a match” the stranger said but his voice was hushed and his eyes amazed.

“Have you ever?” John asked, genuinely curious. The man only looked the other side and diverted his gaze. “Because I haven’t and it’s damn trilling right now, I have to tell you.”

“The name is Sherlock Holmes.”

“John Watson.”

They stared at each other for a bit. Then John nodded to the car, parked close by. “So, shall we?”


	2. The worst thing about you

It was good to know that not all the blood on Sherlock was his. John cleaned him thoroughly – he took out his first aid kit and some wet towels on the bathroom floor, rubbed all the blood out, undressed the man and started cleaning his cuts and bruises, not surprised that much to realize that the main damage was on his head and hands and his body was mainly in an acceptable condition. Even if Sherlock was way too thin and sporting some disturbing scars, John thought it could’ve been worse so he was grateful for having found him in as good condition. He saw some scarring on his elbows, scanned it quickly and when concluding there weren’t any fresh scars, John settled on testing Sherlock’s blood and piss, just to be sure.

He called Lila – no dating was going to happen tonight and by the way she cursed at him and hanged up angrily, John thought that no dating was ever going to happen but he couldn’t bring himself to care that much.

He settled Sherlock on the couch. He gave him a pillow and a blanked and threw a sheet over the sofa cushions so they didn’t bother Sherlock’s skin during the night.

By the time his Match was ensconced comfortably on his couch and John had ordered Thai, it was already nine o’clock. John sat on one end of the couch; Sherlock has scooted over the other side and was reading through an old medical journal John had forgotten he owned. Sherlock chuckled from time to time. John finally understood why when his guest asked for a pen and started correcting the book, chuckling darkly to himself and murmuring in astonishment.

“So, why were you on the street today?” John asked as casually as he could manage once the food arrived and Sherlock was forced to leave the book and eat something. John did mention something along the lines of forcing the food into his mouth and that was the key to make Sherlock shut up and eat something.

“I was working,” Sherlock explained after a mouthful.

“But you were all bloody and almost senseless.”

“Ah, yes. A bad encounter started off my day earlier.”

“But are you okay? I stitched you up and all, but… you could tell me if you want to share something. I won’t tell anyone and I may even be able to help you. You already know I was a soldier.”

Sherlock laughed but the sound was heavy and dark, bowing and shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “And then what?” he asked, his tone sour and his eyes cutting. “You obviously don’t need a prostitute in your life, and I won’t even mention what you choose not to ask about.”

“The drugs.”

“The drugs, Doctor, yes.”

“You haven’t used lately.”

“102 days. It started affecting my brain. I couldn’t do it anymore. It wasn’t… I wasn’t a good man. I wasn’t a man at all for a long, long time, Doctor, and I don’t see – you understand me, right, please, I am a man of logic, even if you only see me as a simple drug addict and a prostitute. So I don’t see how or why someone like you, a respected man: father, doctor, soldier, oh, and a brother; would need or want someone like me.”

“Well, I don’t know you, Sherlock, but the best I gathered about you wasn’t an addict and a… are you really a prostitute?”

Sherlock was silent and John cleared his throat. “The best thing I know about you is that you are astonishingly clever, perceptive and different from any other human being I have ever met.”

Sherlock scoffed and John smiled a little. “You are beautiful and precious. If even a little rigged by the life you have been leading.”

He left his food and turned fully to Sherlock, reaching for his hand. Both their marks were revealed as John talked and once again, Sherlock didn’t feel him move. “You are invaluable and I think you deserve someone to take care of you, even if you don’t want them to. Otherwise you are just throwing a brilliant mind and a beautiful heart away.”

Sherlock realized the mark was out in the world again only after John lifted his wrist to his chapped lips and kissed it reverently.

“You cheesy speech makes me dizzy.”

“I am sorry. The moment called for it.”

“I used to be a consulting detective.”

John looked at him and he let go of his hand. Sherlock turned to his food, poking at it while he gathered the courage to speak. John felt his uncertainty and helped him make the faltering steps by offering a simple, “What happened?”

“I got to a case bigger than me and didn’t leave while there still was time.”

They both were silent for a bit. Then Sherlock cleared his throat and looking at John from the edge of his eye, he mumbled silently, “I miscalculated. People died because of me. The Reichenbach Falls, 8 dead.”

That’s when it hit John. He snapped his fingers and blinked in astonishment. “Sherlock Holmes – you are the great detective that took Moriarty down.”

“No, Doctor. I am that detective that got 8 police officers killed. No one cared I got Moriarty caught. I got policemen and policewomen killed.”

“I am sorry.” John rubbed his back and scooted closer so he could keep his arm on the man’s shoulder. “But how did you get from a successful detective to…” He really didn’t want to say it again. It made him feel as if he was rubbing it in and that was the last thing he wanted to do to Sherlock.

“Shit happens, yeah? And Moriarty’s men are everywhere. It was the easiest way to keep low and stay in the city. I mainly camped with the homeless but out there you don’t get many chances to work. Or make money. It was an easy way out for a drug addled mind.”

“And what about the time after you stopped with the drugs?” He didn’t want to sound accusing but it slipped from his mouth and the best John could do was to hold on hard onto Sherlock’s shoulder.

“You were the first… since the drugs.”

“I am not going to…”

“I just really need the £20.”

John frowned. “Why?”

“John…”

“No, I plan on trying my best to help you. I want to know.”

Sherlock looked away. He stayed quiet and shrunk in on himself which was a sign loud enough for even John to hear.

“Okay,” the Doctor whispered, “okay.” He leaned down and kissed Sherlock shoulder tentatively. “As you wish. I will give the £20 to you. I hope you don’t go on buying drugs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock laughed as he brushed him off. “Nothing affecting my brain won’t be entering my body. Not anymore.”

“I love hearing that.”

“You are a bit creepy right now.”

“I am sorry.” John moved away and cleared his throat. “I must admit I am a bit… well, desperate for a human touch. I may have gone a bit far ahead in my head. With you being my Matching set and me being an utter idiot.”

Sherlock shook his head. “You don’t need me. And a matching set doesn’t mean I deserve you.”

“I guess my sudden fascination and adoration may. Why did you stop me? Many people were walking by.”

“You seemed interesting. Soldier and a Doctor, I could tell you had some plans you were exited but annoyed to have.”

“How does that work?”

“You really wanted to have that date tonight.”

John nodded. He did, it was exiting – having a prospect at finding love at last, having that special someone to annoy you so much that you loved them.

“But you knew that woman wasn’t what you hope to have in life.”

John looked up and fast. Sherlock wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at their reflection in the TV.

“She was boring and way younger. She was the kind of woman to still value the restaurant you went to more that the company she got. The kind of woman, who suggests you cook for her so she could evaluate your flat and decide.”

“To decide what?”

“Are you worth it her time.”

John smiled a little and shook his head. “How do you know that?”

“You moved things around for tonight. Evident by the dusting.” Sherlock pointed out. “You took the better stuff up front and the older, stupider ones you pushed backwards in hopes she wouldn’t inspect the flat much. You tried and you even brought quiet expensive food when it is obvious from the state of your flat that you struggle with money. You wanted to impress her, knowing somewhere deep inside that you didn’t have a stinking chance.”

“I am a very charming man, Sherlock, don’t underestimate me.” John said jokingly, not wanting to admit that Sherlock was right again. He felt sick, hearing all that from someone else, someone that wasn’t the voice in the back of his mind.

“I am sure you are. But you knew you didn’t want that date. And you took an easy way out. All I wanted at first was to see if I can beat whatever you were so excited to get to. Then I deduced more and decided my chances were pretty good with you.”

“You didn’t deduce the Match.”

“I never believed I’ll have a match with someone. Ever.”

“Why’s that?”

“Have you met me?” Sherlock smiled but the gesture left a sour feeling in both of them. John reached out, mindful of his words and actions this time.

He brushed Sherlock’s hand and their fingers touched. The detective winced but he didn’t object when John twined their fingers together. “If you were to go back, would the police still work with you?”

Sherlock looked confused for a moment. He looked at their fingers and then at John’s face – his sincere blue eyes piercing Sherlock’s face as if they bore directly into his mind; his bashful expression, the opened face, every thought written clearly in every crease and fold.

Sherlock moved his free hand and brushed the sandy hair with his open palm. No one in his life has ever let him touch them. Not even his mother – she was the one most terrified from him and she never touched him. It was strangely nice, he thought to himself. Being touched by John like that, not for sex or torture, but just for closeness.

In the books on psychology Sherlock had read it was written just that – that when people feel love or affection towards someone they tend to create physical contact. It was the first time Sherlock experienced it firsthand. People touched him, yes, but not like John did because when John did it Sherlock didn’t feel repulsed or violated. He felt safe.

And as he adjusted his hand, to hold tighter onto John, he said, “Yes. They would.”

John nodded. “Okay, this is a start.”

“A start?” Sherlock furrowed his brows.

“To get you back on your feet – I will help you with what you need and when we do what we have to do, you can do what you do best, make some money and be a good flat mate. I could use with a lower rent.”

“Who said what about flat mates?”

“You said you camp with the homeless. I have a spare room and a Matching set of markings with you, what else do we need to become flat mates?”

“Well, I don’t know. I never had one.”

“Okay.” John thought for a second, his question was rhetorical but really, it wasn’t a bad one. He licked his lips and said, “What is the worst thing about living with you?”

“I sleep odd hours, I don’t eat regularly, I used to play the violin at impossible hours but that is not a problem anymore.”

“I have a three-year-old daughter that visits every weekend. I work two jobs and I am out most of the time. Mrs. Hudson is around often enough though.”

“I know. I know her.”

“You know Mrs. Hudson?” John asked, clearly astonished and rubbed Sherlock’s wrist with his fingers to encourage him to talk. “How?”

“Ask her, won’t you?”

“Sherlock…”

“She is much fonder on telling boring stories than I am.”

John hummed quietly. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?” The man turned to look at him and smiled at the fond expression on John’s face.

“I really want to kiss you right now.”


	3. Freak Show

Sherlock breathes in deep and slow. He feels John’s eyes on his face and the Doctor’s hand in his own. His fingers clench around the Doctor’s and he leans closer. John is already there and when Sherlock stops a few inches away, unsure how to proceed, John moves still, catches his face in his palm and kisses him: slow, careful, like touching something precious and amazing.

It was all very slow. Sherlock didn’t know what was happening because his experience with sex wasn’t like this at all. This was his first kiss and he was thankful that there was John to kiss him like that.

For Sherlock sex started on his knees in a back alley.

With John, he found himself straddling the soldier, holding lightly to his shoulders, their mouths moving together as John’s tongue explored Sherlock’s mouth and savagely, yet tenderly marked him as his own.

John pushed up and lifted him off the couch. Sherlock barely noticed he was being moved to another room. John was warm and overwhelming and the kiss was impossibly soft and loving. He felt safe and how much had he craved for the feeling of safety and comfort to be given to him, if even for a day or two.

He felt the softness of the bed under his back and then John weight on top of him. He opened his legs instinctively and the soldier settled himself, one hand around Sherlock’s tight and one to his head, cradling and soothing.

Sherlock felt pliant and warm. He held John with his knees over his hips and his hands holding tight onto John’s oatmeal jumper. He threw his head back when John’s mouth moved lower and the soldier started kissing his jaw and neck, sucking painfully sweet marks over the pale skin.

“John,” Sherlock breathed and his hands moved over John’s back. “John,” he was panting, his big brain turned off. All he could do was chant his Doctor’s name. “Please, John.”

John moved around, grabbing at Sherlock, not having much for purchase of the lean, way too thin body. He grunted, maneuvering them both. They lay splayed in the middle of the bed, Sherlock’s wandering hands scratching the pillows and returning to John’s body to hover uncertainly until John moved and started taking Sherlock’s shirt higher and higher on his chest.

“I want you to gain weight,” he murmured in a blur of a movement and Sherlock breathed, kissing him fast and messy and John couldn’t help himself but answer to the kiss. “You are not healthy. This is dangerous for you.”

Sherlock nodded, pushing at John to get him closer still. Their erections brushed together occasionally and Sherlock wanted more, impossibly more, but it wasn’t a good idea, it was the worst idea.

As John started undoing his trousers, Sherlock pushed at his hands and called his name. It took John three tries and half a dozen calls to stop. Sherlock was trembling beneath him but not with fear; with want. John looked him over; he looked carefully and then leaned down to kiss him, the movement reverent and apologetic.

“You need to test me first,” reminded him Sherlock and John closed his eyes. He didn’t want to remember, even the slight opportunity for Sherlock to be… he shook his head. The possibility wasn’t small and Sherlock was right, Sherlock was always right, wasn’t he. John kissed him again. “I am sorry.”

“You don’t have a reason to be.”

“If I wasn’t such a sl…”

“Shut up.” John ordered angrily. He opened his eyes and caught Sherlock’s. They stared at each other for a long moment. “You are perfect,” John spelled slow and careful enough for Sherlock’s thick mind to absorb. “You are perfect to me – all of you: your past, your future, every bloody bit of you is perfect. And you have nothing to be sorry for.”

And just like that they were kissing again and they were undressing each other slowly and quite determent. John was peppering kisses to every spot of skin he reach to and Sherlock buckled and moaned and begged for John to be careful. He didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t want John to be in danger. They undressed to their trousers and Sherlock said a loud ‘stop’ that had John clambering back to his mouth, kissing him with fever and chanting ‘okay, okay, okay’.

They were kissing again and Sherlock smiled, thinking how good it felt. John’s mouth on his, it was better than drugs. It was even better than a crime scene. It was warm and safe and John was there, ready to protect him and that was really all Sherlock have ever wanted and had never allowed himself to pursue.

“Daddy?”

They both froze on the bed.

John lifter his head and looked over his shoulder. His hand clamped on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” Charlotte, his little daughter stood there, in the middle of the darkened room and looked at him with her big blue eyes.

“Mummy said I should visit.”

“She said that, didn’t she,” John mumbled to himself, getting up and covering himself fast. He threw the covers over Sherlock’s legs and kissing his forehead one last time, went to get his daughter. “Where is mummy, baby?”

“Here, John.” Diana was sitting in the living room, finishing her make up. “Something came up and I need you to take her.” She gave him a once over and smirked, “Don’t tell me you got lucky.”

“It’s none of your business. Its 1 a.m. she is supposed to be sleeping for a while now.”

“Yes, I know.” Diana sounded offended by his words. “And she was. I woke her to take her to you. Now she can continue her sleep.”

“Diana…” John wanted to say… well, a lot of things, but he decided best not to do it in front of Charlie. He kissed his daughter’s head and petted her blond curls. “Did you bring her bag for the weekend?”

“No, I’ll come by tomorrow morning to bring it.” She finished her make-up, gathered her stuff and stood up. “Say hi to your _friend_ for me, John.” And with that she was out of the flat.

John grunted angrily but moved with Charlotte and brought her to the couch. “Wait here, sweetheart, I’ll be back in a minute.”

She nodded just as John stood up and walked back to the bedroom. Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching his clothes close to his chest. “I’d understand if you need me to go,” he said and he tried to sound nonchalant and calm but inside he was scared and absolutely terrified how carried away he got with something so unsure.

“No… no.” John kissed his lips and kneeled between his legs, holding on his knees. “She has never met… anyone like that. Not from my side at least.”

“I will stay here then.”

“No, Sherlock, please. Just help me a little here.” Sherlock nodded and John rubbed the mark on his hand. “Humor her, yes? She’ll have a billion questions, questions that we haven’t answered between the two of us and probably won’t for a few weeks but she is just a kid and she’s been through a lot.”

“Okay.” Sherlock smiled reassuringly and kissed the top of John’s head. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

Charlotte was already asleep when they went into the living room and John was grateful for a lot of reasons. He took her to her room upstairs and Sherlock made the bed before John put her in, covering her with the soft blanket before they went downstairs. They cleared the table and put the food in the fridge, washing the dishes and moving around in silence. When they were ready, the table cleaned and the living room peacefully darkened with only the street lights shining through the curtains, Sherlock sat on the couch and John joined him, trying hard to figure out what to do next.

“So…”

“So…” Sherlock looked at him, smiling a little.

“We kind of made out. And quite a bit for that matter.”

“We did.” Sherlock licked his lips, his fingers under his chin.

“I need to sleep now.” John looked uncomfortable for a moment and then he said, “Would you like to join me? Just to sleep.”

“In your bed?”

John hummed quietly.

“With you?”

He did it again and Sherlock rubbed at his mark wistfully.

“No sex. It’s not safe. I can get you…”

“We will wait. We’ll get to know each other first. Until the results on your tests, we’ll be simple flat mates.”

“Yes.” Their hands met between their bodies on the couch but they didn’t dare to look at each other. “I can still get you off.”

“I want you. I want the whole of you,” John didn’t let him finish.

“Yes, okay. I like that.”

John took his hand and stood, Sherlock following in his footsteps.

They felt as if they had just went to bed when Charlotte crashed between then, jumping on the bed, demanding breakfast at 6 a.m. Sherlock was the first the wake and he kissed John’s temple, thinking how he could maybe never got the chance to do that again, before he took Charlotte in the kitchen, hearing himself say, “Come on, let daddy get some rest. What do you want?”

And just like that he was making morning tea and scrambled eggs, which she instructed him how to cook, and serving this little creature, feeding spoonful to spoonful to her and talking about every stupid small thing he had stored in his head, specially staying away from the gruesome facts about crime and murder.

He was reading to her the guide to London when John came to the living room, rubbing the sleep off his eyes, looking well rested and frankly kissable to Sherlock.

They shared a look and John went to kiss his daughter. He got his morning coffee and Charlotte was all over him the moment he took his chair in the living room, telling her dad all about the morning with Sherlock and asking all kinds of uncomfortable questions.

“Hey… hey, will talk about that later, yeah?” John petted her head and kissed her again. “Let Daddy get some rest. Please, love.”

She giggled and moved around, busying her mind with the book Sherlock provided and the strange notes he gave as she continues asking random questions about London and its astonishing palette of citizens.

“You are surprisingly good with children,” John noted when Sherlock scooted closer to him, having Charlie coloring a rabbit in one of her coloring books.

“Really?” He seemed quite a bit shocked.

John smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. He felt as if this was his life, day to day. Sherlock didn’t feel like a stranger, he felt right, like a perfect addition to his life, as if he had always been there. The mark on his wrist burned and John looked at it, surprised at the fast connection they have developed.

He noticed Sherlock rubbing at his wrist again and smiled happily to himself.

“Yes, really,” John said and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder to see his daughter. “She likes you. She is not so welcoming when it comes to new people.”

“I made extra sure she didn’t felt in danger. And when it came to her Dad I told her you are all hers.” Sherlock looked at Charlotte fondly. “She is just like you, John.”

They shared a glance and John announced that he will take a shower. He left Charlie with Sherlock, confident that they were comfortable enough to spend twenty more minutes with each other. Charlie was in Sherlock’s arms when he was going in and Sherlock was humming quietly into her ear, watching straight into John’s eyes over her shoulder. John couldn’t help but smile widely and went into the bathroom with the image of his little daughter, curled up like a baby in his Match’s embrace.

It was a damn good way to start his day, he thought as he started the shower.

Twenty minutes later he emerged to a quiet flat with Diana sat at the kitchen table and Charlie, sleeping on the couch.

“What are you doing here?” He asked angrily, looking around to see where had Sherlock gone. “Where is Sherlock? Did you say something horrible to him?”

“No,” Diana sounded innocent as an angel.

“Then where is he?”

“I don’t know, John. Maybe you shouldn’t bet on a whore like him. You are a father and you have to take care of me and Charlie. Do you think it is the best idea to have a boyfriend at the moment?”

John shook his head angrily. Oh he had so much to say to Diana, but she always played strategically. She knew perfectly well that he tried to never lose his temper in front of Charlotte and surprisingly all the conversations Diana choose to have with him, were always in Charlie’s company.

“Did you say something to him?” John could see the bedroom through the open door and he saw that Sherlock wasn’t there. So, he wasn’t in the flat.

“No.”

John used a breathing exercise he learned in the army to calm his nerves. “What did you tell him, Diana?”

“Oh, come on, John. Better go get a prostitute, much better than this freak show you choose.”

“Diana…”


	4. Take you home

Sherlock was holding Charlotte over his shoulder. She was curled up, hiding her head under his chin, her Paddington smashed between their bodies. His light humming almost got her to sleep and John was so thankful he kissed Sherlock for a full five minute round. Now John was in the bathroom and Charlotte was awake again, although barely. She woke up for long enough to reach for Sherlock and as soon as he got her and started humming, she fell back to sleep.

The front door opened and he looked at that direction instantly. The footsteps fell heavily over the seventeen steps and soon Diana was on the floor and through the door. She left her jacket on the rack and moved inside, stopping dead when she saw Sherlock holding her sleeping daughter.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!” she screeched as she threw the bag with food she was caring and stepped fast towards Sherlock.

He held Charlotte closer and tighter to his chest. A shiver went through his body when Diana stepped into his personal space and yanked the child, disrupting her sleep lightly.

“I am home now,” she said acidly, looking pointedly at him. “You aren’t needed anymore.”

Sherlock looked lost for a moment and Diana smiled a little.

“Don’t tell me you thought it was for longer than last night.”

He didn’t tell her anything. He really wanted to see John, but John was in the bathroom and between the two of them stood Diana, armed with her fuzzy daughter.

“What are you still doing here?!” she asked and Sherlock flinched. He asked himself the same thing.

He looked around; he didn’t have anything more that the clothes on his back. He was ready to go; even he really didn’t want to. He wanted what John had promised: the detective work, the flat mate, the kid running around. It all sounded so good. And the mark stood above all – forgotten a bit, in today’s fast, busy world, but they had the Matching Set, they had the perfect marks. He couldn’t say that to Diana, he could see the tattoo over her mark. She obviously didn’t believe in the Markings.

“Hey!” She said a bit louder. “Are you so dumb, you can’t understand what I am telling you? Are you mute?”

He was, in a sense. He moved closer, looking longingly at Charlotte. Diana held her closer to her chest and snarled at him. Sherlock knew his due, rarely but he did.

Before John was out of the bathroom, Sherlock was out of the flat and back on the streets.

He walked, he didn’t have money for the tube, he was adding to his savings and he needed just £20 more. They proved hard enough to get, he didn’t want them to get even more.

And yes, John didn’t give him the money he promised. Thinking how the night went, Sherlock thought it couldn’t have gone better – there obviously wasn’t anything better than John – but understandably, John wouldn’t want Sherlock. What an idiot he was, thinking about John’s daughter and not even remembering that there was a mother. Of course there was a mother, and of course someone like John would prefer a stable woman before an ex-drug-whore-freak like Sherlock.

Five blocks from John’s he met an old client of his and the moment the man spotted him, Sherlock knew this was his life and John’s words were only illusions. Viktor advanced closer to him and before Sherlock knew what was happening, he was kissing his neck, his hands on Sherlock’s arse. He shivered and even if Viktor read it as eagerness, it was only disgust.

This morning Sherlock was thinking how he wouldn’t have to do this anymore. Not ever. Not even once more.

And few hours later, here he was… with Viktor Fucking Trevor humping his leg in the bright day light in the middle of the street.

He cursed in his mind but didn’t show it. He put his hands on Viktor’s shoulders to push him back a notch. “It’s a £100 now.”

“Oh, come on!” Trevor didn’t move away even in his protest of the price. “It should be lower, is what it should be. No one knows how many dicks have you had in your mouth since I last saw you.”

Sherlock looked at the sky and lifted his shoulder with an air of nonchalance.

“I am already charging you £20 for the stain on my trousers, Viktor,” Sherlock informed him coldly.

“Yeah, fine.” The man stepped aside and took his wallet out. “You were always such a filthy whore.” He slapped Sherlock’s cheek and tumbled his hair. “I can’t get enough of you.”

John didn’t want to say anything to Diana. He didn’t want to see her, to hear her voice, he didn’t even want to acknowledge her existence but she got his daughter and John wasn’t leaving Charlotte behind. He wanted her – he fought in the court but as they weren’t married and Diana wasn’t an ex-army with PTSD, she got the rights to take care of their daughter.

So, he asked Mrs. H to look after Charlie, kicked Diana out – he still could do that, even though she tried to threat him with losing his parental rights – and went to look for Sherlock. He started with the supermarket they met yesterday but Sherlock wasn’t there.

As this was the only place John knew Sherlock could be, he was left with only one other choice. He took the tube and went to NSY, feeling as much stupid as he felt determent.

He stormed the building and walked straight to the Informational burro with the demanding “I have a question.”

The young officer behind the desk gave him with the usual comforting, yet disconnected stare. “How can I help you?”

“I want to talk to someone who knows Sherlock Holmes.”

The receptionist blinked at him. The detective walking by stopped at looked at him. Two officers, drinking coffee by a vending machine, lifter their head and stood at attention.

“Why do you need that?” The detective walked closer and positioned himself directly in front of John.

“I need help.”

“We are not missing persons. I am sorry.”

“I know what you are. And I want to meet with someone Sherlock has worked with. DI... I have read about a DI in the newspapers when the Moriarty case was going viral. DI Lestrade.”

“So, you want to meet with DI Lestrade?” The receptionist asked, blinking at him.

“Yes.”

The detective leaning next to John moved away, noticeably annoyed. He practically couldn’t force John out of the NSY if he knew who he was looking for.

The DI in question turned out to be a very nice man whose eyes lit up the moment he heard Sherlock’s name. He invited John into his office, closing the door and sitting behind the desk with the air of a man that had to see way more than we originally signed up for.

“Did you find him? Many have tried but it is like he had never existed.” He looked exasperated and tired.

“He kind of wish he hasn’t,” muttered John bitterly and licked his lips. “I was hoping you kept tabs on him. Your name was always alongside his in the news.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Two years, Detective. It’s not a decade; it’s not even half a decade.”

Lestrade frowned. “What is all this about? Are you one of the crazed writers, wanting to write a book about him? It won’t happen; there are people that are going to stop you – no matter what. I am going to be one of those people but I’ll be your smallest problem once you meet…”

“Well. Me.” A voice came from behind John and he jumped, turning to look over his shoulder.

In the door there stood a smart dressed man with an umbrella. That was all John saw because he stood in a way that the shadows fell on his face so John couldn’t see it clearly.

“Who are you, Dr. Watson?”

“Captain John Watson to you.”

“Sorry, Sherlock is the one with the military kink; you don’t really work on me.”

John frowned and turned towards the man grumpily. “Okay, listen. I don’t know what kind of idiocy is going on here, but I need to find Sherlock. He may be in danger and I don’t want him doing something reckless.”

“How do you know him?” The umbrella man said, moving into the room and closing the door once more.

“How do _you_ know him?”

“I am his brother. And I want you to tell me what you know about Sherlock.”

“Brother?” John sounded more than suspicious.

“You are a military man, Doctor. You are aware of all kinds of interrogation techniques, yes?”

John only nodded.

“I’ll give you a choice then. You either tell me now or I do unspeakable things to you. And if you don’t want to talk even after that, I’ll bring your little daughter in. I am sure that then you’ll be able to understand my pain of knowing that some idiot of a man has precious information about my little brother and not wanting to tell me what it is.”

John’s eyes went huge and his mouth agape. His first pumped, he could hear the blood streaming in his ears and for a moment there, he saw white. And then, the whole thing registered. He was angry about Charlotte being even mention in this conversation but it wasn’t really about her. It was a desperate attempt to scare him with the weird brotherly affection that the umbrella man showed. Lestrade looked equally shocked but only shook his head when John looked at him for help.

“He was at my home last night.”

“Yes?”

“He works on the streets. Doing drugs. He is my Match. We have the matching set.”

Lestrade had the decency to look shocked and he even whistled quietly. The umbrella man didn’t budge.

“My… the mother of my daughter kicked him out while I was in the bathroom. I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him… well, for myself. I wanted to take care of him, and…”

“Shut up.” Mycroft took out a phone and started typing. Second later a young woman entered the room and started tapping fast on her phone. When she was done, she gave the phone to the umbrella man.

The exchange went on for a few minutes and then the umbrella man stood.

“Follow me, Doctor.”

The DI walked them out and to the unmarked black car that was waiting. He slipped his card in John’s hand. “Just to know how he is,” he said quietly and John nodded, feeling strangely close to the DI.

“My name is Mycroft Holmes.” The man said as they got in the car. “I don’t want to know anything about you. I already know everything of importance. If you follow my lead, you’ll go back to your normal life by the end of the day. I’ll have to use you because if Sherlock sees me, he’ll run. He is too ashamed to come to me and you may prove suitable bait.”

“No, no, no!” Johns started to protest. He wasn’t going to help anyone. He was going to go get Sherlock home and hide him from whoever Sherlock wanted to be hidden from.

“He is in a back alley with a man.” It was like Mycroft hadn’t heard him at all. “It’s up to you to take him home, Captain. And it’s up to him if you’ll ever see him again.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“I just want him to be safe.” Mycroft said it as if he was excusing himself for something.

“I’ll make sure.”

“Only if he lets you.”

They left him to a close-by alley and Mycroft closed the door, the car moving easily down the road. John didn’t expect anything of this to happen and even after all of that, he was more surprised to find Sherlock on his knees with a sleek smirking moron, towering over him, his hands in Sherlock’s beautiful dark curls and his eyes pinned to the face, hovering closely to his unzipped trousers.

He pushed Sherlock a little when he saw John and shouted “Hey, get lost, loser!” making it really hard for John not to go and kill him on the spot. He only gritted his teeth.

“Sherlock!” he shouted and the man flinched. He tried to move but the hand in his hair didn’t let him.

Sherlock hissed and the man screeched again, “Take it, whore!”

John was already next to the in the next moment and the man went on the ground, his arm dangerously twisted in John’s hands. Sherlock stood on his knees, holding onto John’s hip with both hands. He was shaking and his face was buried into John’s jacket.

John didn’t have much time for the sorry excuse of a man that he had in his hands. Sherlock wasn’t okay, Sherlock was very, very scared and John wanted to take him home so bad. He shoved the man face first into the wall and kneeled next to Sherlock, taking him in his arms, holding him as close as he could. “Shhh,” he mumbled into Sherlock’s hair, kissing his head, “I am here. I am going to take you home now.”


	5. Just you and me

Trevor was still on the ground, fairly dazed and scared. John didn’t pay him much attention anymore. He was far more concerned for Sherlock. He was whimpering and broken at his feet and the only thing John could think of was to bend down and take him in his arms.

John carried him over to the car and as he reached to open to door Sherlock shifted and shook his head in panic.

“No! No!” He tried to free himself but John held hit tight with both hands. Problem was, the more Sherlock fidgeted the harder it got to balance his body and in the end, John fell on his knees, gently laying Sherlock on his legs, and burrowing his head in his shaking shoulder.

“Sherlock…” He wanted to find his wrist and sooth his mark, knowing that the effect will be faster and stronger than his pointless words.

“Cab, let’s take a cab.” Sherlock was pleading and holding tight onto John. His voice came hushed and tight and his breaths were rigid. John felt sick, knowing what kind of nightmares and ghost might haunt Sherlock’s mind.

“I don’t have the money, Sherlock,” he mumbled, embarrassed and angry at himself. He knew he barely had the money to provide for himself, how was he supposed to take good care of Sherlock? No, he was going to find a way. Maybe try a third job or ask for a raise in the clinic. He was over-qualified and all.

“No, please.” Sherlock kicked and held tight at John’s shoulders. “Take the tube then.”

“My hands can’t endure the whole ride to Baker Street, please.”

John took Sherlock’s face in his hands and forced him to him in the eyes. Only then did Sherlock calmed down a notch and his breathing slowly started to ease. John leaned closer, careful not to pressure Sherlock. Their lips met and Sherlock whimpered a little, leaning to John and clamping his hands ever harder around John’s neck and shoulders.

John kisses slowly, caresses Sherlock and lovingly pulls him closer every time their movements pull them even lightly apart. His mouth then travels down Sherlock’s jaw and neck and John buries his face in his shoulder, breathing him in.

“It’s empty,” he says quietly. “The car, it’s just you and me.”

“You lie!”

John left Sherlock on the ground and went to open the door, “Get out!” he screeched and Mycroft was no doubt going to argue but the John added, “Get the fuck out, Mycroft Holmes!” Then the other door opened and Mycroft grumpily moved to ride with the driver.

John went back to Sherlock, helping him up, “You see – just you and me.”

Sherlock held his head low but followed John into the car. Once inside, he tried to compose himself and he didn’t utter a single word until they rounded the street. “Can I use your phone?” Sherlock asked then. John handed him the phone silently and watched as Sherlock texted. Ten second later a response came.

John looked over Sherlock’s shoulder. The text read ‘As you wish, brother. MH’

“What is it?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

They stopped in front of an old building, almost all of it in ruins. The times hadn’t been nice to it and London had forgotten it as well. Sherlock got out of the car and before John had the time to wonder if he should follow, the screen went down and Mycroft Holmes appeared on the other side.

“I don’t understand what exactly you are waiting for, Doctor.”

John jumped out of the car. He barely managed to see Sherlock rounding a corner around the house and he ran to catch up with him. Sherlock didn’t acknowledge his presence; he continued his stride to the dark, shady corners of the back street.

“Sherlock, what are we doing here?” John sounded nervous, not because of his surroundings; he had seen much worse and much more dangerous places. It was because of how Sherlock acted.

“I need to take some of my things.”

John looked shocked for a bit and he was grateful for the fact the detective walked in front of him so he couldn’t see his face.

“Don’t be so shocked, John,” he said, but he didn’t surprise John.

“How?” He was asking about how he knew. And he was absolutely sure that was the reason for the small smile in Sherlock’s voice.

“Your breath hitched.”

John walked faster so he could regulate his pace with Sherlock. Their hands brushed and they shared a quick glance.

Sherlock had lived in frankly awful conditions and John wanted to burn the place to the ground when he walked inside an old dusty house without much of doors or windows, mould on every wall and not one or two weird stains. John didn’t really want to know in what he was stepping. He wanted to take Sherlock out of this place as fast as possible.

Sherlock retrieved a leather bag from an old dresser and kicked one of the ragged, unstitched mattresses to pull a leather case, hidden underneath it. “I didn’t think I’ll ever use that again,” he said as he examined the case. “It may prove useful though.”

“What is it?”

“My lock-pick set.”

They were out of the house in no time. John felt eager to get back home. He already knew how the day was going to proceed. He was going to get Sherlock in the apartment, lock down the whole house and get him a good, long bath. Then both Sherlock and Charlotte were getting a nice, homemade dinner and once Charlie was asleep… well, John didn’t want to get his hopes too high.

And he was getting all of Sherlock’s clothes in the laundry. That wasn’t up for discussion.

Back in the car, Sherlock was silent again and he didn’t utter a single word until they were on Baker Street.

John was getting out of the car when the screen went down again but before the older Holmes could say whatever he wanted to say, Sherlock cut him off with a rude “Fuck off, Mycroft!” that he sneered with disdain.

John reached for him and took him out of the car, watching as it pulled away, the silence inside echoing even when Mycroft was long gone.

John took Sherlock in his arms, his hands on his shoulders, their eyes locking much for Sherlock’s displeasure. “What was that about? He helped a lot.”

“No, he made you think he did.” Sherlock sat on the stairs in front of the building, tumbling his hair with his hands and shaking his head to clean his mind. He had thrown his bag on the ground. “All the slimy git wants is to find me, confine me into some secret service station and gloat for the rest of my life. They all want that – just to rub every fucking mistake I’ve ever made in my face.”

“Lestrade seemed very worried about you,” John dared to suggest with uncertainty but Sherlock threw him an ironic glance from under the thick cloud of curls, surrounding his bowed head.

“He was tolerable. You should’ve met Donovan. Oh! She’ll be thrilled to know what kind of mess I am right now.”

“Sherlock…”

“I have always been the freak, John. And I don’t need pity now.”

John sighed. He didn’t know what to say or do to sooth Sherlock, to make him believe that he didn’t pity him, he genuinely was fascinated by him and he wanted him – the whole of him no matter what.

“I am sorry you are stuck with such a disappointing Match.”

“Well, I am not.” As John leaned to kiss his head, he took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s go. Charlie will be up soon and I have a feeling she’ll want to see you again.”


	6. £20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise more Charlie in next chapters.
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos, it's really nice to see that someone enjoys your writing and ideas. You are great!

Charlotte was sound asleep and Sherlock had volunteered to clean up after dinner while John was getting all his clothes in the laundry. He did seem strangely out of place in the kitchen and John kind of suspected that he won’t be seeing Sherlock doing many choirs done but he was please enough to see him try, even if it looked like he just wanted to please John.

Sherlock didn’t allow him to wash his coat, hiding it away in his bag.

“Why not?” John eyed the bag in Sherlock’s hand.

“It only gets dry-cleaned.”

“Okay, I’ll take it tomorrow.” John turned his back to Sherlock to finish with the washing machine.

“No.”

The doctor frowned. He turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder. “Why not? You seem to love that coat quite a lot.”

“Well, yes. I do.”

“So, why not clean it? The winter in coming, you’ll need a coat.”

Sherlock took his bag and went to the bedroom. He kicked it under the bed, hoping John’s attention span to prove short.

It did but not it a good way. When John showed up in the living room, Sherlock was sitting on the sofa again, reading an old medical journal and editing with a pencil.

“Do you want to talk about today?” John asked gingerly, sitting next to him with two cups of tea.

“Why should we?”

“Well, Diana obviously said something that drove you away.”

“I may have decided to go away on my own.”

“And this is totally why you clung to me the moment I came to look for you.”

“You clung to me as well.”

“Yes, I did. I told you. I want you. I’ll hold onto you all my life if you let me.”

Sherlock stayed silent. “She only stated some truths.”

“That doesn’t some like her.”

Sherlock chuckled. He looked up from the journal, realizing how serious John was. He put it down then and turned to John, drawing his leg under his body.

“I just want to know what she said to you so I can lessen the damage.”

“She said that you don’t need me. That’s true. When she is home to you, I am not needed.”

“She and I… we aren’t together. We haven’t been for a very long time. We split up when she found out she was pregnant. We met in a bar, had a few drinks, we were together for no more than a few months and then she called one night. She told me she was pregnant, she was freaking out. We didn’t really know what to do. I asked if she wanted to move in with me. We could’ve tried for a family but neither of us really wanted that. So we settled to have the baby and split the parental rights.”

“But she decided differently later,” Sherlock was frowning as if he couldn’t understand how his deduction fitted the story John was telling.

“Yes. She was going to get married and she wanted me to give up my rights over Charlie but I have always wanted to be a father. I didn’t care that we weren’t going to be doing this together – I wasn’t leaving my daughter. She went to court, the barrister trying his hand with my military history and all but I am a doctor and a veteran after all. It is my worst and best side.”

Sherlock hummed quietly. He took John’s hand to lace their fingers together. He laid his cheek against their joint hands then and kissed John’s knuckles softly. “But Diana didn’t get married.”

“No. She decided she isn’t ready yet.”

“And what now?”

“Well, she is a good woman, if a little too wild. She has a boyfriend, pretty serious one but she doesn’t want me to find a partner.”

“She is afraid you’ll take Charlotte away.”

“Maybe. I am not completely sure she is very comfortable with role of the mother. They don’t get along, Charlotte and her.”

They were silent for a little while, Sherlock still holding his face close to John’s hand. The business of London echoed outside, the cars and people, voices towering above all rooftops.

“She didn’t have the right to attack you.”

“You’d do the same if you come in and see a stranger holding your child.”

“No. I won’t be nice but I won’t try to sell them lies.”

“You don’t need me. That is true. You just want me so you don’t have to be alone.”

“No.” John moved his hand away and if Sherlock instinctively tried to follow him, reaching out, he came to his senses fast and moved his hand back to himself. “I want you because you… well, because the moment I met you my heart was sealed to you. I am sorry, but don’t look at me like that. Firstly, and least importantly, we are a Matching Set. So, we are supposed to be soul mates.”

“Only on theory.”

“To prove that we need to get to know each other and I know you for two days and already feel as if you have been part of me all my life. You are in my head and I don’t want to have to fight myself to kick you out of there. I neither want to, nor do I have to. You are amazing and frighteningly smart; can’t you look at me with those beautiful eyes and deduce yourself into the truth of our situation? Because the only way I am letting go of you is if you want me too.”

A phone chirmed before Sherlock could reply. He had no idea what to say to John. How to explain just knowing that they were a right Match; John was already all over in Sherlock’s Mind Palace, he took a small space in every room, in every hallway, in every reflection and note and picture and Sherlock couldn’t push him away. Not now and not ever. The phone chirmed again and he was grateful. That was until he realized it wasn’t John’s phone and he didn’t have one for a long, long time now.

The phone turned up in John’s pocket and it read a message.

_Attached File • Download • Preview_

_Your blood tests are ready. MH_

He looked at John who met his eyes halfway through. The doctor swallowed hard before reaching for the device and opening the attached file. It was standard blood analysis sheet and John read through it.

Sherlock stood. He wasn’t sure he was ready to now, especially knowing how high was the probability for him to be infected, even to be dying. He paced through the room for a few minutes while John swiped the screen and read without saying a word, nodding to himself absentmindedly. Unable to look at John, Sherlock went by the window, joining his hands behind his back.

He was so nervous and distresses he didn’t hear John standing or moving or coming so close, he circled Sherlock with his hands and forced him to turn around.

Their lips met and before Sherlock knew, John was pushing him against the double-desk beside the window, lifting his body of the ground. He pushed his legs open and came impossibly close, touching their chests. Sherlock was panting and shocked. The kiss didn’t stop. His mouth was slack open against John’s and the soldier fucked his mouth dearly. His tongue was rough and explorative and Sherlock couldn’t take the hand of this, even if his life depended on this, there was nothing he could do at this moment to push John back.

He pushed at John’s shoulders, whimpering in pleasure and surprise. “John!”

The soldier pushed him back to lie on the desk and climbed up after him, kneeling over Sherlock to continue kissing him.

Sherlock gasped and pushed again, “John!”

John’s hands worked the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt open, moving down to his trousers in no time. He stopped on his zip, removing his mouth from the long lean neck he was peppering in licks and kisses, and met Sherlock’s eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, perplexed and nervous. “I thought… I thought you want this.” It was far from the right thing to say, John realized. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe Sherlock wasn’t ready or that he may be stresses or tired or just not up for it. John cursed himself, moving back. It their position it proved to be pointless action but John gave Sherlock some space and that, he hoped, counted for something.

“No, I want it, it’s just… I am potentially dangerous.”

“No, you are okay.” John leaned to kiss him and Sherlock clamped his hands of John’s shoulder, murmuring for him to stay close. “You are fine. You are healthy and well and safe here with me.” He kissed again and again, his hands on Sherlock’s chest and they moved together, grinding their erections with Sherlock moaning load and clear in John’s ear and John whispering, “You are home now,” that earned him the most astonishing and his absolute favorite sound that his beautiful lover could’ve made.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” John sucked a bruise of Sherlock’s clavicle before adding, “I read the results and I am a doctor; don’t forget that.”

Sherlock let out a happy gasp and held John tight, clamping his legs around the soldier’s middle.

John helped him out of his shirt and finished his work on the trousers. His hand got lost inside them and even as Sherlock tried to keep his head up to watch as John’s wrist moved, the feeling of the callused, strong hand around his cock made him dizzy and weak with want.

“We should…” John’s grip tightened and Sherlock’s whole body vibrated. “Bedroom,” he rasped, fighting the need to whine and moan in pleasure with some difficulty.

John moved down, slipped further and further, placing kisses over the exposed skin as he stepped down from the desk and pushed Sherlock’s legs and hips up so he could tug his trousers and pants down the long milky legs.

Sherlock breathed and pushed himself on his elbows. “John,” he said but the man’s undivided attention was on Sherlock’s tights. “John, bedroom…”

“Shut up!” he growled at stood up abruptly. His hands held on Sherlock’s tights painfully hard when the pulled him closer so he can catch him around the middle, hands on Sherlock’s arse and carry him to the bedroom.

John threw his lover in the middle of the bed and climbed over him. He pushed two fingers inside the gorgeous mouth he wanted to kiss till it bruised. Sherlock sucked on the fingers, lapping at the tips with his tongue. He used the time to unbutton John’s shirt and push it out of the way.

John removed his fingers, replacing them with his mouth. His hand moved down and moved fast as he reached Sherlock’s thighs and opened him gently, sneaking his fingers beneath his erection, touching his perineum gently and rubbing at his whole, all the while fucking him with his tongue in earnest.

Sherlock’s senses went into complete overdrive and he shook with all the overwhelming sensations, bombarding his body and mind.

“Oh, please,” he pleaded, holding on tight on John’s shoulders. “Please.”

“Shhh,” John kissed his neck and adjusted his hand, finding the way to his prostate. “It’s for you, okay?” He teased him and kissed him and had Sherlock writing beneath him before he spoke again. “Tonight is all about you.”

His mouth was on Sherlock’s and the detective’s hands held his head, long fingers moving from John’s neck to his back and waist. His opened palm felt warm and slightly wet against John’s skin.

John turned his head, kissing the wrist of the hand that was touching his neck and face. The Mark on Sherlock’s skin was as warm as his palm against the muscles on John’s back. Under his lips, the soldier felt the blood in Sherlock’s veins, he felt the pulse throbbing. He sucked, lightly at first and then hard and unforgiving against the Mark.

The suction had Sherlock writhing and moaning as his legs kicked on the bed, opening wider still to give more access for John’s fingers.

He came with John’s name on his lips and soon with John’s mouth over his, kissing and sucking and biting until the last of his pleasure was drained from him, leaving him panting and wet over the covers.

Sherlock shivered, the cold of the room resonating with the slick hot sweat covering his body. “What do you want?” he murmured against John’s shoulder, trying to pull him over his body so he could take from his warmth.

John hummed, cleaning his fingers on the covers and buried his head in Sherlock’s shoulder. “You,” he said quietly, breathing into the hot skin.

Sherlock moved a little beneath him, opening his legs and wincing. He felt the cold and his body was way too tired but he didn’t want to leave John hanging. “How?”

“What?”

“How do you want me?”

John looked confused and tired. His voice sounded raspy, “Not now. Tomorrow. Or whenever you are ready.”

“I am ready now.”

John giggled, high and pitchy, and shook his head. His arms supported him as he pushed himself up so he could gaze into Sherlock’s eyes. “Tonight is all about you. Are you sated and happy?”

“I am,” Sherlock said faster than a blink.

“Then, this is all I want.”

Moving his hand Sherlock tried to reach for John’s erection but the man moved and caught his hand in his own. “Sherlock.” He looked him in the eyes and Sherlock pouted.

“Aren’t you… attracted to me?”

“More than obviously I am,” John moved so his erection could press to Sherlock’s tight and leaned in to kiss his chest. “Let’s go to sleep now.”

It wasn’t what Sherlock had in mind but in was what he needed because not long after John tugged them both under the covers, he rolled drowsily to his side, searching for the support of John’s body to share heat and touch.

“Why don’t you want to clean that coat?” John asked out of nowhere. Sherlock still blissfully dizzy after his orgasm and warm with sleep turned to John with beautifully bewildered look on his face.

“What?” His eyes roamed John’s face but all he could do was lean close and kiss his soldier. John smiled softly, caressing his hair.

“The coat, love,” he explained gently.

“No. I am still £20 short.”

John blinked a few times. So that’s what the £20 was for. He shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t stay so close and not kiss his Match. It was too much, especially now, in this blissfully quiet moment when Sherlock was placid and soft and all the more lovable.

“Okay,” John mumbled into his hair. “Sleep now.” They kissed but even before John could completely move away, Sherlock was asleep. John smiled to himself and laid back, holding him close, his hand closed around Sherlock’s wrist, two fingers occasionally brushing the Mark.

 

His mobile rang around 3 a.m. and John turned to the night stand, extricating himself from Sherlock’s tight grip. He didn’t know who would be texting him in the middle of the night but he wasn’t that surprised to see Diana’s number on the screen. It wasn’t the first time she’d do it but the honestly hoped it would be the last.

He opened the text, not wanting to but feeling obligated to do it.

_You finally found one you can’t get pregnant. Well done, daddy, a drug addict and a prostitute. Nice catch there. It would sound amazing in court._


	7. A Soft Spot

John woke up engulfed in Sherlock’s body all wrapped up around him like a blanket. He realized something had waked him up when the bed moved and Charlotte crawled over the covers, kissing her father’s ear as she sat herself on his chest.

“Morning, Princess,” he caressed her head and moved to sit in bed, maneuvering Sherlock so he could keep all the contact points between them. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes!” She jumped in his lap a few time and clapped her hands. John quickly caught her small palms in one of his, bringing them to his lips to kiss them.

“Keep quiet, Sherlock needs a long rest.”

She pulled hers hand of his and reached to touch Sherlock’s inky curls. His hair was a black silky contrast to the sheet and it brushed nicely to John’s naked skin. Charlie whirled a curl around her finger and giggled as she let it go, doing it again.

“Beaushiful,” she said and giggled louder as a longer lock of hair uncurled while she tugged at it and then curled back, silky and ink black against the pearly skin.

“Yes, he is, love, and you are too,” John blissfully told his daughter and she blushed, a little twinkle sparkling in her eyes as she looked away from her father.

“Can you wake him?”

“No, Princess, I told you,” John moved to get up but Sherlock’s arm held him in place. “Sherlock _needs_ to sleep more,” John punctuated. A grunt came from the man in question as he stretched and blinked the sleep off his eyes.

Sherlock pushed up on his elbow, holding John in the middle with his free hand. Charlie laughed happily when she saw him and tipped herself in the hollow between their bodies without much grace.

“We don’t need to get up so early,” Sherlock said and John looked at the clock only to realize it was only 8 a.m.

He then turned to his daughter, fully engrossed playing with Sherlock’s long fingers, bumping her nose and going up as she waved her short arms and small palms, trying to reach Sherlock and occasionally succeeding. “Why aren’t you sleeping, Charlie?”

“Yesterday she woke up early as well,” Sherlock informed him calmly.

“Charlie, sweetie, do you have nightmares?”

The little girl looked at her father from where she had buried herself onto Sherlock’s chest. “No,” she said in surprise. “Daddy,” she reached up and John took her in his arms, holding her tight.

“What is it, Princess?”

“Am I a bad girl?”

John was shocked and fairly angry at whomever went to put that idiotic thought in his little girl’s head. Sherlock sat up in bed, leaning on the bed board in silence.

“Of course not, you are daddy’s little angel, love. Who told you something like that?”

Charlotte turned to Sherlock and reached to touch his face, burying herself into his arms. He looked at John over her shoulder, a furrow lining his face. “What is it?” he asked, evidently nervous about her reaction.

“Well, she likes you, I told you.”

“You are a strange family,” Sherlock noted, his hands cradling Charlotte’s head and back with fondness.

“We obviously have a soft spot for you,” John kissed his nose before adding, “And you know if you are my perfect Match that means you are hers as well. She has my Mark, not her mother’s.”

Sherlock hummed a little and lulled Charlie into sleep, getting out of the bed and gesturing to John that he’ll bring her upstairs. A minute later he came back and leaned against the door frame. “You have a gate at the top of the stairs. It’s a good idea to close it when you put her to bed.”

“You are right.” John stretched and flopped back into bed, wriggling his legs and laying on his back. “She isn’t old enough to go down the stairs on her own.”

“Well,” Sherlock came closer, throwing his leg over John’s and straddling him. “I didn’t have such a parental motive in my mind.”

John frowned comically. His hands were on Sherlock’s tight, rubbing slowly. “You don’t say.”

“I thought that, maybe,” his ass circled on John’s crotch and he doctor hissed, his fingers digging into Sherlock’s tights. “It wouldn’t be very good if she woke and came down right when…” his ass bumped up and down against John. His hands were around the doctor’s shoulders, his head bowed down, and a halo of inky curls bouncing around his head as his ass bounced against John’s almost painful erection.

“What if…”

A finger covered his lips and John smiled, kissing its tip.

Sherlock dipped his head enough for a kiss and then suddenly John took matters in his own hands and from some point on everything went blurry and hot in Sherlock’s mind. They made love agonizingly slow, hands and mouths wherever they reached, panted breaths and pleases filling the morning.

They fumbled, their only clothes – their underwear dashed somewhere over the bed as they reached and searched and touched, keeping each other safe in the arms of the other.

When he came back to himself, Sherlock felt John’s nails drag down his sides, hot breath against his chest, the doctor’s cock heavy inside him. It was something absolutely new for Sherlock. Making love, feeling so many things all at once and none unpleasant, not even an ounce of pain, not even the gag of the unescapable nausea that came with all the clients taking him like that.

They parted with stolen kisses and little touches, making them tremble in the afterglow.

“I think I love you,” John turned his head on the pillow and his hand on Sherlock tight pressed a little harder.

Sherlock laughed lightly. He lulled his head, propping his chin on John’s head and pushing him closer to his chest. “Endorphins talking,” he mumbled into the sandy hair.

“No,” John shook his whole body and turned over, agitated and angry at the retort. “No! Sherlock…”

Seeing the look in Sherlock’s eyes, John shut up. He braced himself, draping his whole body over Sherlock’s and biting an angry red mark over his heart.

“I’ll say it again later.”

Sherlock’s laugh rumbled through his chest. “What difference does it make?”’

“For me? None. I’d still love you like a mad hatter. And for you?” He looked up and his air was smug. “You’ll have to eventually believe me.”

Sherlock was quiet after that. He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t try to argue and John took it for a victory, even though it was a very small one.

They laid together for a little while longer, sated and still a little panting, when he asked, “Do you thing she is awoken? I really want you to meet her properly.”

“She is still sleeping. Tell me why did you think she has nightmares?”

“I don’t know. She used to, a few months back.” John moved so he could look Sherlock in the eye. The man looked thoughtful.

“I think she is having some problems, maybe at school or with a new member of the family. She is distressed. She is actively asking for comfort, acting possessive over you and…”

“She isn’t possessive, she likes you!”

“Not with me, John. With her mother.”

John frowned then and moved to sit properly. Yes, Diana and Charlotte weren’t the perfect example for a mother-daughter relationship but Charlie being possessive over him, this was new. And it only added more to his growling hesitance of leaving his daughter with Diana.

“What happened?”

“It’s just… I don’t want to say anything right now, it have been wrong with my deductions before and people have died. You don’t need me to be wrong, especially when it comes to Charlotte.”

“No, no, I want you to tell me. Everyone makes mistakes, and yes, some people may have died and that is tragic, but many others have been saved, Sherlock.”

“It doesn’t really matter now.”

“Just tell me, please. She is my little girl, I need to know. Whatever it is, I need to know how to help her.”

“I think Charlotte is having trouble with other kids and I think Diana can’t or won’t do much about it.”

“Why?” He didn’t want to have this conversation now, but he needed to know. It was Charlotte and save for her and Sherlock nothing had any importance in his life.

“Let’s take her to the park today, I want to see her interact and I’ll tell you more. I haven’t seen enough yet.”

“Daddy,” Charlotte called from upstairs and John got up with a grunt. Rolling his shoulders, he crossed the room, got dressed and went for his daughter.

Sherlock was in the kitchen, making tea when he entered, Charlotte in his arms, her bright eyes sparkling as she took the mess around the kitchen with glee.

She stepped on the table, walking around the cups and plates that John hurriedly started to clean up.

“Do you want to go to the park today?” John asked her while he was washing the dishes and sipping tea from Sherlock’s hand.

Charlotte fell on her bum loudly and hit her open palms against the top of the table a few times, happily chanting a string of “yes, yes, yes”-s. Sherlock left John’s tea to serve her some breakfast and he took her in his lap, to help her eat. They both watched her father move around, making small talk but not really saying anything of importance.

John had decided that when Charlotte was ready, she was going to tell him what was wrong. And by then, he relied on Sherlock’s deductions to keep him alert.

After breakfast, Sherlock let the little girl run into the living room. He himself stayed in the kitchen with John, watching him as he cleaned up, munching on a toast and drinking another cup of tea.

Then, out of nowhere, just as Sherlock was enjoying the great view of John’s arse, the doctor turned and casually asked, “Do you think you’d want to form a Bond with us?”

“Us?” Sherlock’s brow furrowed.

“Charlie and me, yes.”

“I already have formed bond with you, if you don’t feel it…”

“I do,” John said hurriedly and waved his wrist. “It’s warm and ticklish and from time to time I am just giddy, you now. I felt it last night.”

“Do you think it would be wise for me to… form the bond with Charlotte?”

John looked up from inspecting his tea and licked his lips nervously. “I think it will be good for her to have a family, a functional, loving family that has done everything to make sure she is loved and protected at all times.”

“Yes, yes. I want to do that. Will a bond help?”

“With your brain and instincts, and with our Matching set, it should be very good. To both of you.”


	8. The woman on the bench

The park was overflowing in a Sunday afternoon. The sun wasn’t too bright, the air pleasantly warm and the grass beneath their bare feet was soft and just a bit scratchy. John laid a blanket for them, bringing homemade sandwiches for Charlotte and coffee for Sherlock and himself. The budget was tight so they were going to abstain from fancy picnic food for the time being.

Charlotte was too young to notice and Sherlock too engrossed in having a family to care. If John felt insufficient, he didn’t say anything. He laid on his back in the grass, Sherlock leaning on his elbows by his side, watching John’s little daughter as she chased the bees. Sherlock gave detailed report of Charlotte’s activities and the nice rumble of his voice so close to John’s ear, made the doctor sleepy and calm.

He didn’t notice when Sherlock got up. He heard his laugh mingled with Charlotte’s and got up to look at them.

Charlotte avoided other kids; she actively tried to stay away from them and from the playground where John and Sherlock had brought her. They ended up on a picnic exactly because she refused to talk or play with any of the children on the playground.

She stayed between them and held on tight on John’s hand. She wasn’t scared – or she didn’t betray any signs of fear, Sherlock had told him. But she didn’t want to be there and that was enough for John to take her someplace else.

They went to Regents and sat in the ground, listening to the people walking the alleys, letting their voices drift into a steady mass. Charlotte and Sherlock were playing and John leaned back, he didn’t want to intrude, knowing how hard it can be for a second parent to form a bond with someone else’s child.

It shouldn’t be that hard for Sherlock, but one could never know for sure.                     

It wasn’t until few minutes late, when a loud shout shook him back to reality.

Sherlock was kneeling on the ground, lifting Charlotte over his head, with her clear childish giggle summering like rain through the air. His rumble sounded even deeper when in mingled with hers and it made her wriggle and kick her feet, shouting “Put me down!” and whining when he tried to do so.

The next moment a group of four policemen and women ran out of nowhere, a dark skinned lady leading the way with screams, “On the ground! Put the child away and lay on the ground! Keep your hands where I can see them!”

Sherlock couldn’t put Charlotte down fast enough. He pushed her in John’s general direction. The leading policewoman stepped closer to him and kicked him in the shoulder, shouting one more time for him to get on the ground.

“What are you doing with a child, freak?” she hissed at him, trying to call Charlotte to herself but the girl didn’t move.

One of the male officers pushed his head down and pushed him to the ground. His shoe held his face to the ground at the same time Charlotte hurled to him, trying to squeeze under his body. They were trying to get her, he realized, and she didn’t let them. Sherlock threw one of his hands over her, keeping her close and feeling oddly proud of her. His hand covered her head, pushing it to his body so they didn’t hurt her.

“Leave the child, Holmes!” someone called and John was running, anger and shock ringing through his body.

“What do you think you are doing?!” John rushed to them. There was a child there, were these people absolute morons as not to have that in mind before they attack someone. And what the hell was that thing – attacking Sherlock as he was a treat to national security.

“Step back, sir,” the woman said, “Jenkins, please, remove the child.”

John pushed through just to be held back at gun point by one of the officers. He stepped back, holding his hands up and looked at Charlotte’s shocked eyes. “Don’t you dare, touch my daughter!” he hissed but as they stepped to disobey his direct order, John pushed between the officers and came to Sherlock, shielding both his daughter and the detective. He kicked away the man keeping Sherlock’s head to the ground and helped him sit.

“Mr...”

“Captain John Watson of Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. This is not a good example of police work, Miss.”

“The man you let so close to your daughter is a dangerous criminal – killer of good police men and women – and he is our responsibility, so I’d like to ask you to move away, take your daughter home and leave the police to its duty.”

John snorted and shook his head in disbelief, “I know who that man is and you are not fulfilling any duties right now. This is not the usual police protocol, this is outrage.”

“Sir…” the officer tried again only to be cut off again. She had a sour expression on her face, similar to the angered and annoyed faces of her colleagues.

“Captain, I said.”

She looked like she ate something sour when she said, “Captain Watson, if you don’t step back, I’ll arrest you as well and this isn’t something you want your daughter to see, is it?”

John’s fists pumped but Sherlock’s hands gently opened them, long fingers massaging at his Mark. “John, this woman hates me in her guts. Let me go now, and call Mycroft the moment you get home.”

“But they are going to hurt you!”

“The faster he finds me, the less they’ll hurt me.”

“Sherlock,” he said cautionary, “I am not leaving those idiots to torture you.” Then he turned to the woman who had gotten her handcuffs out, ready to take Sherlock. “I am coming with him. We both are,” he said as he took his daughter in his hands. “And I shall talk with DI Lestrade about your means and ways of arrest. Rest assured.”

The woman blinked a few time, looking confused, “How do you know the DI?”

“None of your business. Arrest him if you will or let us go home now, it’s more that obvious that our day is ruined.”

“He is coming with us!” one of the policemen said as he stepped closer, his hand on his gun. “He killed a friend; he’ll take what he deserves now.”

“Hey!” John turned to him, pulling rang, squaring his shoulders and setting his chin. “Don’t come too close, buddy. You are not police now.”

“We are,” the woman said. “There is nobody to care for him; he has been gone far too long now.”

“Oh my, Donovan,” Sherlock finally stepped in and John turned to him, shocked and speechless at his tone. It was a tone he had never heard Sherlock use before. “You are as stupid as you were two years ago.”

Donovan screeched, her gun came up and against Sherlock. Charlotte cried and Sherlock turned to John again, pain written all over his face at the sound of Charlotte’s fear. “Take her home, John. I can take care of these morons here. Look at them, they don’t even have the wits to come after me out of their uniforms. It hadn’t crossed their little, silly brains that they’ll lose those uniforms once they are detected here, doing _whatever_ are they doing.”

“We are taking our revenge, you monster!” another officer yelled and took out his gun, aiming at John. “We waited long enough for you to come out of the shadows!” His eyes were huge, dilated and black, his skin prickled and white as sheet. “How would it feel if I kill you family now? Why don’t we find out?”

“NO!” Donovan said sternly, looking at the man and looking around. “The freak is right. We can be recognized.”

“Aren’t you a bright one,” Sherlock noted sarcastically.

“Shut up, freak! I am saving your sorry life for once. Be grateful.”

“So grateful you won’t kill me for nothing!”

“You are a fucking killer! You deserve to…”

A police siren sang and they all froze on their places. John’s phone was in his hand; Charlotte was to be seen ten or so meters away from them, sitting on a bench, noticeably scared and nervous. She didn’t cry, she was looking around, shaking, waiting.

She watched from afar and when the sirens closed on them, she ran to her dad and hid behind his leg, watching as DI Lestrade ascended his car and ran to Sherlock, shouting orders, scolding and red with anger as the sirens continued to sing in the loud Sunday afternoon and four officers were escorted out. A very distressed Sherlock sat on the grass, his head on his knees and the DI crouching next to him, his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

John ran to him, holding Charlotte in his arms. He fell on his knees and wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s neck. Charlotte was squeezed between the two of them. She was holding tight around her father’s neck but when she felt Sherlock so close, she wriggled herself so she could clench her tiny fist in his shirt.

“What was that? What was that?”

“Angry cops, John,” Sherlock hid his face in the doctor’s shoulder. His eyes fell closed. “I told you, I’ve been under the radar for some time now.”

“How they knew to find you here? The place, the time, we didn’t tell anyone where were we going.”

“Look over your shoulder. Be discreet, please. And don’t react.”

John looked up carefully. His head was spinning with panic but he’s army training didn’t let him get distracted. His mind was sharp and concentrated when looking for whatever Sherlock knew he would find. And there it was. A figure in black coat sat on a bench watching them from a far.

“No,” he mumbled and shifted his eye, burying his head into Sherlock’s shadow. “But why would…”

Sherlock shushed. “Don’t say her name,” he kissed Charlotte’s head and John breathed into his neck, trying hard to keep his anger in control. If it wasn’t for Sherlock’s warm body pressed to his chest and Charlotte’s trembling body, he would’ve been there, next to Diana, shouting his lungs out.

“I don’t know but we need to go back now.” Sherlock tried to get up only to find John wasn’t budging. “John!”

“No. This is about me now, isn’t it? Us playing the game together. She can’t do this to you.”

“She can, but that isn’t what’s important now. What’s important is to find out how she knew who to call and why did she did it.”

“Because she doesn’t want me to be happy, that’s why.”

“Well, that’s a bit radical.”

“It’s the truth. She wants to take Charlotte away and she is ready to go all the way.”

“Calm down! And call Lestrade back here. I have questions for him.”

John nodded and moved away, leaving Charlotte with Sherlock and going for Lestrade. He was talking with another police officer.

“Hello, freak,” a man approached Sherlock as he tried to stood, his legs tired from the crouching and his head pulsing from the hits.

“Anderson,” Sherlock noted the man with annoyance.

“Nice little family you got here.”

Sherlock didn’t answer but the man came closer, forcing him to look at him.

“Enjoy it while you can, freak, because you are going to pay, sooner rather than later.”

“Anderson!” Lestrade strode to them, reprimanding the man and shooing him away. “I am sorry,” he said to Sherlock once they were alone. “I don’t know what came over them. I thought they understood…”

“Don’t worry.”

John hissed. “But, Sherlock…” he tried only to be shut with a cutting look.

“They are angry, I get that. Just make sure next time they don’t to this in front of her, okay?” Sherlock brushed his lips to Charlotte’s head and turned to look and the handcuffed officers. “I didn’t go under only because of Moriarty. I knew how they’d feel.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lestrade tries but the detective only shook his head.

“They don’t care.”

“Sherlock…”

“We should give him some space right now,” John stepped in and took hold of Sherlock’s arm. “Let’s meet tomorrow and we can talk how to right the wrongs, yes?”

 

It was later that night when Sherlock woke. He didn’t remember falling asleep. John, Charlotte and him came home, Lestrade giving them a ride to Baker Street and then John gave him tea and took him in the bedroom, and Charlie cuddled to his chest. Next thing he knew he woke up in the dark bedroom, hearing voices from the living room.

John was having a row with someone, a woman. Probably Diana. It was time she came to take Charlotte but it wasn’t logical for her to be here. Not after they saw her at the park today. Either it wasn’t Diana, or she didn’t know they had seen her.

He went to the door, listening but it wasn’t much to hear. Soon the front door banged and John’s footsteps fell in the corridor. Sherlock stepped back, sat on the bed and looked up when john opened the door, his frame lit by the light in the hallway.

“She tried to take her away,” John said and came closer. “She had the eyes to come back here!”

“John…”

John cursed and kicked a pile of books by the night stand. His hand went to his neck and his head fell on his chest. He was breathing hard and fast. Sherlock licked his lips as he slowly got out of his clothes. John had a temper and he was wound up and Sherlock could’ve think of only one think to calm him down. Except all the rational ways to calm John of course, but Sherlock didn’t wake in to mood to be rational. He wanted his doctor, his soldier. He wanted his soul mate. His perfect Match.

“What are you doing?” John looked up, pulling his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes were dilated and his rage had his pulse fasten. His heart was surely beating fast, adrenalin hitting high.

“Getting you distracted,” he kneeled before John and opened his jeans. “Is that okay?”

John licked his lips, his nostrils flaring. His veins were boiling with anger and build up want. He bent down, took Sherlock by the hair and hauled him to the bed.

“Whatever I do to you tonight…” He was hanging over Sherlock now, the detective’s hand on his muscled stomach and hips.

“It’s alright,” Sherlock said right before John’s mouth crashed his, biting and taking, leaving bruised wherever it touched.


	9. Sense of security

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That took so long, I am so sorry. I couldn't find it in me to write it sooner.  
> I do hope you like it.  
> I have no Beta, excuse me for any mistakes you may find.  
> Happy reading!

John didn’t get much sleep last night due to the amazing thing Sherlock let the ex-soldier do to him but also, partly, because of the rage ringing in his ears. Long after Sherlock had gone to sleep, tired and bruised, marked up by John’s possessive, shamefully aggressive side, John couldn’t sleep. He paced around the flat, checking on Charlotte and Sherlock in turns, trying to understand why had Diana done all that to Sherlock. And how did she know who to contact and why. How did she even know who Sherlock was, that was the point John thought he should’ve started from. Knowing his name and story, she could’ve easily found his enemies in the Yard. They didn’t have much remorse and probably showed and talked about their hatred to the detective quiet freely.

Diana made it easy though. It was just after sunrise when his phone rang. She was calling. John thought it was most likely to tell him, yet again, that she wants Charlotte back right now and that he is never seeing his daughter again. The thought didn’t scare him, nor did it take away his anger.

“What do you want?” he said coldly and without preamble.

“Just to tell you and your precious whore that that game in one, John,” she didn’t show much through her voice. She was calm that much John took away, but nothing else. “He is coming to get him,” she almost sang and John heard her smile. “And you too, don’t worry. I’ll get my daughter back one way or the other.”

John bit his bottom lip. He wanted to end the call but knew that what she was saying now could be of some use to Sherlock. John remembered everything the way she phrased it and exactly how he was going to retell it to the detective.

“What are you talking about, Diana?”

Her laugh echoed through the phone making John shiver. He looked up to the stairs to Charlie’s room, suddenly nervous because of Diana’s happiness. “You have no idea, do you?”

“Diana!” His fist pumping to his side took down his anger just a little. He tried to be calm. He tried to be civil and patient and everything he knew he had to be now so he could help Sherlock as much as he could. But his nerves gave out.

She laughed again, the clicking of her tongue grating on his mind. “You put a murderer so close to my baby, John. Imagine how that is going to look like in court. Or the fact that you walked home with a prostitute, not even an elite one, just a casual whore taken from the street. Go fuck him until you have the time. He is a dead man walking.”

She was the one ending the call right there. John stood wide eyed and stunned. His hands were steady but his heart raced in his chest. His first instinct took him to check on Charlie but she was still sound asleep. He checked the windows were firmly closed and left the door partly open so he would hear every sound from the room upstairs.

He put on his jacket and went straight for Scotland Yard. His meeting with Lestrade wasn’t scheduled due to the negative spirits Sherlock’s name rose. They were supposed to meet, the three of them, at a coffee near the Yard but John showed up alone and soon in the conversation, Lestrade understood why. He didn’t ask a lot of questions as to where Sherlock was. His nervousness was palpable but despite his endless apologies, John didn’t take lightly on yesterday’s events. John wasn’t accusing Lestrade for it though. It was obvious the detective cared a great deal for Sherlock. And that was why John even talked to him.

He summed his conversation with Diana from this morning and Lestrade cleared that she may have been talking about Jim Moriarty. A man he didn’t much like to discuss and said, had brought all the trouble in Sherlock’s old life. The spite in Lestrades tone was enough to alarm John but what he heard and vaguely remembered from reading in the news when the topic was hot and accordingly loved by the press, helped him get the picture.

Jim Moriarty was trouble, and serious one. Sherlock must be protected; John knew that very well, he felt it in his bones and through the bond. He was rubbing his matching mark lightly, talking about Sherlock and how he was when they met, when Lestrade cleared his throat and said “He is a great mind, John, and a great man. It was hard, working with him, but he sees all those things, all those little details and he loved doing it.”

“That is the reason I want to help get back to it. Get back in the game and working with you.”

“The latter will prove quite hard, especially with Moriarty… bloody hell, I was sure the bastard was dead.”

John fell quiet for a second. He still hadn’t told Sherlock and felt a pang of guilt through his chest for telling Lestrade first before even making sure he could fully trust him. From what he saw yesterday though, Sherlock did trust him and if Sherlock trusted him, John felt already sold on the deal.

“I must go back,” he muttered. “I still haven’t told him and I worry how he’ll react.”

“Well, not well. I can tell you that much but he has to know. Otherwise Moriarty will catch him unprepared and this time it may actually prove deadly.”

Hearing the words made the hair on John’s neck stand on alert. Deadly wasn’t an option. Not while John was in the picture. Over his dead body was this Moriarty getting to Sherlock.

He shook his head, “He is already a step ahead. He has Diana, I don’t even know how or why or anything, but she wants our daughter and she’ll fight dirty.”

“Moriarty is dangerous. He is deadly and he has no conscience to appeal to. Moriarty doesn’t care about you or your child or that mark you keep rubbing at. The only thing that man cares for is thing twisted king of game he’s playing with Sherlock. Keep that in mind.”

John planned to when he set off for Baker Street. Walking the streets, he got some time to think things over and try for a plan that just didn’t go well. He didn’t know what to do, especially with Charlotte; it was her he was most worried about. He didn’t know how to protect her best and he didn’t want her involved in all of this in any way.

Two blocks away his phone beeped. It was a text message from unknown number.

_I can help. MH_

John dialed the number immediately. He was annoyingly relieved that the big brother was able to help. He knew so very little about the man but one thing was sure – he had some power, and hopefully some resources to help Sherlock.

“A car will be waiting for you on Baker Street,” the voice on the other side informed him and before John knew, he was in an old warehouse in the company of one Mycroft Holmes.

He drew in a breath, reading himself to speak, but the older Holmes was already smirking.

“I know everything you are about the tell me. Moriarty claims a return, Sherlock and you daughter are endangered, and you will die before you let them get hurt. I have a common goal with you here, Captain Watson.” It didn’t escape John’s notice that Mycroft was addressing him by his army title, and quite deliberately at that.

“That is true.”

“Diana, the mother of your child, she had been working for a company part of one of Moriarty’s cells. That’s how he found her and got to know her. She is no more than a puppet, John, and most likely she doesn’t even realize how big and dangerous this whole affair is.”

“Well, that doesn’t excuse her!”

“No, it does not.” Mycroft clutched the head of his umbrella and pursed his lips. “But she is a parent; she wants her child all for herself now you two are separated. You know the feeling.”

“Many people manage shared guardianship.”

“Sure they do, but Diana is…”

“She isn’t our problem. She is my problem.”

Mycroft smiled but nodded his head. “Moriarty.”

“And Charlotte, I want her protected and you can protect her.”

“I can,” he agreed. “And I will. But I want to protect you and Sherlock as well. I am tracking Moriarty, my people are looking for him and if I may, I’d like to keep Sherlock as far away from him as possible. The last time that man took his plan to my brother, the one ended supposedly dead and the other on the streets of London, waiting for you to save him.”

John brushed his chin. “What do you propose?”

“I’ll take Charlotte to my house. It is safe and protected. We won’t risk having her and Sherlock in the same place in case he decided to be Sherlock and does something reckless.”

“He won’t hurt her!” John protested but knew deep inside that it was the best possible way. Even though Sherlock would’ve never put Charlie in danger, Moriarty sounded like he would and being close to Sherlock right now meant being close to danger.

John signed.

“I see you made the connections,” Mycroft was smirking again but shook his head. “Go back home now. Get her ready; tell Sherlock everything you find appropriate. I’ll be in touch soon with a plan.”

They didn’t exchange any parting words. The car took John directly to Baker Street where he cooked breakfast and made coffee. Both Charlie and Sherlock were still asleep but he roused his daughter, telling her about the little adventure with Mycroft. She was thrilled, although she asked a number of times about her mother and by the time she went to kiss Sherlock’s curls John had run out of excuses and explanations of what was happening with Diana. It wasn’t only that he didn’t want to tell Charlie; he didn’t know for sure where Diana was or what she was doing.

“I’ll get you home soon, sweetheart, okay?” John told her when another black car with Mycroft in it arrived in front of Baker Street. He put her backpack on the backseat and helped her in the car, kissing her head. “Take good care of her,” he warned Mycroft who assured him one last time before Charlotte waved goodbye, silent in her momentary shyness. She was a bit confused and it broke John’s heart to send her away but the danger was big and way to close to them for him to let his emotions get in the way.

John felt devastated and tired when he got back upstairs. He didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to do anything. Not when Charlotte was off to somewhere, away from him.

Sherlock was in the living room when he got up. Standing by the window and staring at the empty street with glazed eyes. He looked at John when he heard him coming closer.

“You alright?”

John smiled bitterly. The dark chuckled that escaped his lips was dangerous and send spikes of equal parts pleasure and fright up Sherlock’s skin.

“She is with your brother,” John said.

“I know. I saw you with the car.”

“He is back. Moriarty is back for you. So Mycroft… he took her.”

“I am sorry.” Sherlock stepped closer but stopped. John had put his hands up like a barrier between them. “John, I can always…”

“No.”

“You two can be safe. You can go to her while I…”

“I said NO,” the soldier yelled shutting Sherlock up effectively.

The detective froze. The marks on their arms burned like fire. John rubbed his and smiled, a wicked, crooked smile, never reaching his eyes.

“You and that little girl, both of you are mine now. If you want to go away, you are free to do so. But as long as you choose to stand by me, you are mine as much as I am yours. And I won’t let you go face this monster on your own.”

Sherlock didn’t answer. He took a step back, propped up by the window with his dressing gown pooling around him.

John stared shamelessly. He had just lost his daughter – maybe for a day or maybe for a year, or maybe even forever. Who knew what Diana’s next step was when it came to Charlie? He understood her as much as he could. He himself was ready to do everything for Charlotte but he still couldn’t understand why Diana went so far. He got to see Charlotte twice a month for a couple of days. What more did she want? To take Charlotte away for good, he knew was the answer, but refused to even entertain the thought. It made him nauseous and he focused back on Sherlock.

It wasn’t easy. It was hard not to think about Charlotte but at least she was safe with Mycroft. Sherlock had told him some things about his brother and John had had the chance to interact with him before, to see how far his reach actually was.

“Sherlock, I…” John tried but felt silent.

Their eyes met and they stared at each other for a long moment before John started moving. He crossed the room quickly, coming dangerously close. His eyes were raging, his expression of anger and desperation.

He pinned Sherlock to the window frame, burying his face into the other man’s neck. John’s hands found their way to Sherlock’s hips and tights. He pushed him and wrapped his long sinuous legs around his middle. Sherlock whelped a little in surprise but didn’t protest.

John started kissing him, his hips moving in slow, torturous rhythm against Sherlock. The detective slipped his hands around the broad back, presented to him, and slowly climbed his fingers to John’s neck, pushing and kneading lightly. John was moving against him, unrelenting and faster every time. His face was buries in Sherlock’s neck now and his grunts got occasionally intercepted with an escaped whimper or a moan.

“John?” Sherlock buckled, his hips snapping in time with John. The doctor held on tight, his hands like steel ropes on his tight and around his waist.

Their sheeted erections rubbed hard against one another. Sherlock was so close. His voice was everywhere when he whispered John’s name in his ear, being right there so close to his lips as John kept his head buried in his shoulder. “Shush, love,” John murmured quietly. “I just need to feel you, okay?”

“Oh-okay,” Sherlock breathed soundly. He buried his face in John’s neck, much like John kept his face.

They clung to each other, hands clamping down, stronger and stronger with every passing move. They slid against each other a couple more times and Sherlock moaned, arching his back, chest rubbing against John, his fingers digging into his soldier’s back and neck. The quiet moans and whimpers were dying out when John followed and clung hard to him, falling plaint and soft in his bliss.

They stumbled to the couch, falling over one another. John gathered Sherlock in his arms, pushed him on the inside of the couch and lied protectively around him. The detective cried in distress, his back bruised and sore from the hard push against the edge of the window frame and the strain of staying wrapped tightly around John the whole time.

“I am sorry. I needed to… I shouldn’t have done it. Not like that.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Sherlock said soothingly. He kissed John’s forehead and then his temple. His lips brushed lightly and sweet, lulling John back into a false sense of security. “I love you and I will do everything possible to get your family together as soon as possible.”

“It may be out family,” John murmured. He took Sherlock’s hand and kissed the match on his wrist. “Our family, Sherlock.”

“Yes,” the man smiled a little, the expression came a bit strained but he was happy, nervous and scared but happy all the same. Their own family, with John and Charlotte; it did sound too good to be true. But with the matching marks burning through his skin and John kissing him sweetly, lulling him to sleep, Sherlock felt as if it was possible. He felt like in that moment there, in that desperate moment on the verge of war, everything he wanted he could have.


End file.
